In today’s column, we continue a previous account of a pair of bald eagles constructing a nest on Tupper Lake. (Do you think it should be called Lake Tupper so the lake isn’t confused with the village?)
Anyway, you will recall that Scott Chartier had observed and reported the occurrence of nest-building activity near the International Paper Co. lean-to, built as a public relations courtesy by that company, open to the public and known variously as the Sorting Gap or Indian Point lean-to.
Note: Many Indian artifacts have been discovered in the past at this point. It was a camping and fishing spot by traveling Indian parties. Of course, it was also near here that river-driven logs were sorted according to brand marks of the various lumber companies, which were stamped out on the log’s end. The name choice is yours, but recent maps now label it Sorting Gap.
Scott’s report received immediate follow-up from the Endangered Species Unit. Peter Nye, who heads the unit with headquarters in Albany, assigned Mary Beth Warburton, his regional assistant, to field check Scott’s discovery. Mary Beth confirmed that the eagles had built a nest and that, in her opinion, were in breeding mode.
The next step at the proper time interval, when the eggs should have hatched, was to authorize a helicopter flyover to determine if the breeding was successful. That flight revealed that two very active eaglets had been produced! Finally, almost a month later in late July just prior to the time when it was expected, the birds would attempt the defying feat of flying from their lofty perch or fledge, as it was called. Peter Nye then came to Tupper Lake from his Albany office. He scaled the 90-ft. pine and placed identifying aluminum leg bands on each eaglet. This technique is called banding and is an important management-oriented procedure that is invaluable to eagle study and restoration efforts.
As you might expect, climbing a giant pine tree and sitting in the nest with two eaglets requires great skill and is not a task for the faint hearted.
Pete turned out to be more than equal to the task. He has been associated with the Eagle Restoration Project for 26 years, and his field activities searching out nest locations in remote areas, scaling cliffs and climbing trees, has kept him strong and exceptionally fit. For instance, one of the first steps in reestablishing the eagle to New York State was the importation of young eagles from Alaska. In collecting those nestling eagles, Pete and crew climbed 18 100-ft. plus Sitka spruce trees and collected 21 eaglets. Here was an expert, clearly loving his work, happy to be free of his Albany office for a few days.
I asked Pete about those early restoration days and he replied with obvious pride that the program was successful beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. The idea, he said, “was to rear those nestlings obtained from Alaska, release them when they could fly and hope they would survive and set up nesting territories of their own and increase the eagle population in the Adirondacks. Falconers from early times called this ‘hacking,’ but it had never been done, at least on a large scale, with bald eagles.” He noted further, “the hacking tower locations were critical. It had to be in a remote location, free from human interruption.”
The best way to describe these towers is that they resemble fancy tree houses in the form of an apartment complex. Water and food were delivered by a pulley system up to the eagles in the tree house complex, which had remote-controlled doors on a noiseless sliding track. All of the sophistication was to prevent the nestlings from “imprinting,” which occurs when a human provides the water and food directly and becomes a parent figure – something to avoid.
One of the most successful locations was provided through the interest and generosity of Mr. and Mrs. John McCormick, who allowed large mega-hatching towers to be built in a remote corner of Follensby Pond, which is on their private property near here.
Pete rappelled rapidly from the Tupper Lake nest, looking like a U.S. Army Ranger coming out of a Chinook helicopter. As he struggled out of his descending harness, the parent birds glided in circles a respectful distance overheard, making a click-clacking sound to show their displeasure at this intrusion into the lives of their offspring. (Quite unlike the goshawk or the great horned owl, for example, which are fiercely aggressive in any perceived danger to their young. The eagles, if not happy, are more tolerant. A zoologist friend once suggested to me that this may be due to a higher order of intellect that allows them to see humans as superior predators and that their own survival becomes paramount to continuing their species.)
Pete’s concern at this time, however, was that the nest was not overly stable. He explained, “Eagles who have reached sexual maturity at five years quite often lack the skill to select and secure a strong nest on their first nesting attempt.” He added, “Trial and error eventually leads to the eagle’s building a proper site but that sometimes human intercession is necessary to prevent the useless loss of young or a whole year’s breeding attempt.” Readers may be familiar with the nest off Route 30 near Duane, where the D.E.C. erected a support base to strengthen that weakened nest.
Two weeks after Pete returned to Albany, his worst-case scenario became a reality. It has been called Murphy’s Law, a rule originated by engineers stating, “If something can go wrong, it will.” The nest had blown out of the tree! Massawepie Boy Scouts camping on the bluffs had reporting finding the nest on the ground and two eaglets running around like chickens in a farmyard. A hurried boat trip to the nest location confirmed the Boy Scouts’ discovery. Fortunately, the nest waited to fail only days within the eaglets’ ability to fly.
Mary Beth theorized that after a couple of frightening days of being on the ground, the birds gained flight, possibly becoming airborne by launching from the heights of the bluff. Her theory was given credibility when suddenly we heard the continuous high-pitched call made by an eaglet informing his parents that he was hungry. Jumping into our boat, we rowed offshore and glassed the area surrounding the plaintive call. High in a pine and tight to its darkened trunk, which offered perfect camouflage to black plumage, were the eaglets. Fantastic!
With any luck, these juvenile birds will return to the location of their birth. The privilege of watching these magnificent birds soar over Tupper Lake waters will continue to be ours and, hopefully, future generations.